


Bacchanal

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Broken Windows [12]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 03:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9302090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: With a taste like smoke and fire, how was he supposed to resist?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladydragon76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/gifts).



> Holiday gift for LD, who requested: IDW Blurr/Rodimus - 'Mmm!... Taste so sweet'
> 
> Okay, I know very well that putting alcohol on human genitalia is a very bad idea. Lucky for me, Cybertronians are not humans. And engex isn’t alcohol.

Technically, Blurr wasn't the poetic type.

Framed and trained for speed, it had taken a war to put a thought other than his fame into his head. A war and pretty words that he still doubted in the deepest, darkest parts of himself. He had gone off to follow them, hadn’t he? What he didn't doubt was that there really was no way home when it had all burned down around them.

So now he worked a bar. It gave him people back in jostling, noisy crowds. If he wasn't famous, then at least he could pretend the war was over. And keep his hard-won fighting skills honed on scrapheap drunks. Many of them, after all, had abandoned cause and company, just like him, to pretend. Everyone needed their excuses, right?

Unfortunately, he didn’t really have an excuse for this.

"Holy Primus, just like that! Do that again!”

Blurr had tasted smoke and fire on mechs before. Mixed with ozone in his racing days, and later, all through the war, it had been mixed with soot and energon. And right now, he had crowned Rodimus’ _personal_ smoke and fire taste with the sweetest tank ruster he carried at Maccadam's. It was supposed to have been a gift for the ship’s barkeep.

Oops.

But even lacking the processor or spark for poetry, Blurr had the body for the most visceral form of it. His hands made rhymes at plate seams, his mouth practiced diction at that anointed valve, and his hips -- Well. He was going to let his hips speak for him in just a moment. If Blurr had to have a thing about Primes (pre- or post-, didn't seem to matter at this point; they opened their mouths and he went stupid), at least _this_ one was his size.

Licking and biting up the trail of sticky-sweet engex from valve to spike and all up Rodimus' sleek body, Blurr soaked in his partner’s pleas and cries. Blurr caught Rodimus' mouth with his to drink them down and to explore the timber of his partner's moans. Freeing one hand from Rodimus' aft, Blurr grasped his rigid spike and helped his hips create a new rhythm.

Sometimes, chasing down the sweet fire of overload, Blurr didn't have to just pretend everything was fine.


End file.
